Literary Thoughts of a Dragon Fly

Now a woman is a poem... Now a woman is a poem, and a man a complex web of words, A woman is a different season every day, and a man at times a calm sea and sometimes roaring waves. A woman is a poem, a beautiful, carved, shapely limb of a tree, a swaying leaf in the wind, or a piece of satin scarf drying on the clothes line. A man is a novel, a premise to be understood and followed, A pipe or a cigar or perhaps a hat, His shadows, his wants and his ambitions. A woman is a poem, filled with oh so few words, simile here, metaphor there, mostly an irony and a master in euphemism, A man is a novel, filled with infinite words, infinite possibility, limitless dreams, and grinding failure. You don't make love to a novel, You make love to a poem, You keep it beside you, perhaps a crumbled paper, hidden in a wallet, an anthem for someone or someone's slogan a vow at the wedding or a sombre word at the funeral.. But a novel at times is so much more, a...

Here I come thy mother to rest in your loving lap (based on several true incidents) Here I was a small babe, a growing pearl in the oyster, In your warm loving cocoon , full of sunshine love and happiness. It'll be a cosy world, didn't you promise, my dear mother, But i remember the bright memories, the glowing twinkling memories of life. The first steps in the garden and the run in the courtyard, the first cycle and the first fall. The way father guided me, a strict teacher, yet a loving friend. I was safe, secure in this warm haven, Ma Then why did darkness descend on me. What wrong did i do in my innocent years, To descend my steps to the grave. Whom did I harm in my growing years, to suffer a life time and a after life of pain ? Here I come thy mother to rest in your loving lap. I remember in my growing years, A life care-free, abundant with dreams and happiness. Whatever charm life had, I couldnt ever fathom the gloomy clouds approaching. Wha...